Freedom
by Medra
Summary: If you love something, you must respect its freedom."


If you love something, you must respect its freedom

_If you love something, you must respect its freedom._

It was never a matter of not loving the other boy enough, he would tell himself in the days-months-years following their falling out. It was never a matter of lust as he had told the frightened, upset Gryffindor. It was not a matter of Slytherin pride and cruelty as the boy's friends had reassured the shaking wreck of a boy in the supposed sanctity of the loo. Personally, he still could not understand how easy it had been to erase something so wonderful from his life.

He had spent months telling the boy how much he loved him. He had whispered disgusting, cheesy nicknames in the shell of his ear to let him know just how much he had loved him. In the dark of the night, when the boy was supposed to be sleeping in his tower and he in his dungeons, he was found sneaking to caress pale skin and pressing his lips against the curves of the Gryffindor's stomach. He had always found it adorable how, even after the boy's growth spurt, a small pouch of fat remained above his legs.

He had spent so long making the Gryffindor believe just how much he loved him. He had spent so much time trying to force the other boy to see how wonderful he truly was. Every spare moment spent not sleeping during the night was spent in the stiffness of Gryffindor Tower, every centimeter of him worshipping the wonder which was his lover's body. Months of self-esteem building, loving caresses, heated looks-all gone in five cruel minutes.

No, it had nothing to do with lust, pride, or humiliation. It had _never_ been a matter of not loving Neville Longbottom enough. No. He, Blaise Zabini, had simply loved the Gryffindor _too_ much.

Blaise knew of the dangers when their relationship had started in the middle of their fourth year. He knew the Longbottoms were bloodtraitors. Somehow he had convinced himself it did not matter. In his mind he had actually come to believe things could work out. He feigned ignorance at the end of their fourth year when the Dark Lord supposedly returned. It was impossible and his mother had never been a Death Eater. It was of no matter to him. So he swept it from his mind.

Then the war started and there was no denying their problems. His subconscious pushed matters to the forefront of his mind. Things could not last this way. In the early months of the war he had played with the idea of eloping. Not for marriage, but just to be alone with his lover. They could take care of each other. They would spend mornings watching the sunrise, their bodies entwined, as one would wake the other with soft kisses and loving caresses. Every meal would be a joyous occasion, a celebration of their love. Every night they would keep warm with the lone heat emanating from their bodies as they made love under the stars. It was a dream for every romantic.

It would never have worked though, even if Neville had not been such a bloody Gryffindor. Blaise knew his mother was responsible for the death of his father. He knew the horrors she was capable of. She may not have been a Death Eater, however she was every bit unbalanced as Bellatrix Lestrange. If Blaise had tried to leave the woman would have both boys murdered while they were sleeping. He could handle dying, but not his lover. He would do anything to protect him. So he made a decision to end things.

No person could ever know the fierce pain in his body, the feeling of his broken heart plunging into his stomach, as his dark eyes witnessed the tears streaming down his boyfriend's pale cheeks. No witness was there to notice the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his wrist lifted as he fought back the urge to wipe the tears away. There had been no living soul to hear the whispered name of his lover slipping from his chapped lips as the boy ran to the safety of others who he believed loved him more. His friends.

If only they all knew. They could _never_ love Neville as much as he did. However, they _could_ protect him. They could make sure he grew old. They would make sure he got over that cruel Slytherin boy from school. Someday Neville would get married, have kids, and grow old watching those children develop. Even if he forgot about their brief affair, it did not matter. He would be alive and happy. Really, that was all Blaise could ever ask for.


End file.
